Once, I was Free
by Bryher
Summary: Salen had been sold into slavery, then sold as a whore. Amongst Arthur’s men, there was one who could ease her pain.


**Title; **Once, I Was Free

**Rating; **M

**Summary; **Salen had been sold into slavery, then sold as a whore. Amongst Arthur's men, there was one who could ease her pain.

**Authors Notes; **Not your typical oneshot (if I do say so myself…mahaaa.) but only 'cause it's Galahad, not Tristan or Lancelot doing the comforting. Poor pup. I thought he'd been neglected. (-')

* * *

The lasting memory I have of the slavers that brought me to this island is the sound of the whip and the insufferable cold that permeated my cramped little cage. I was never actually beaten- something for which I was eternally thankful, but the sound was enough to have most of us cowering. We had seen what had happened to those who resisted. We, the slaves, were afraid.

For a long, long time, the bump and scrape of the carts alongside the pitiful gruel and mostly stale water was all that existed for us. People came and went, but we could not cry. My own brother was sold, and the most I could amount to was a pitiful whimper of grief.

It wasn't always like this. This pain and suffering. Once, I had been free. Once, I had a family. A son, a husband. The Romans took that from me. My son was gone. Taken for slavery and some life in the back corridors of a Noble house. He was two. My husband was killed as he defended us. He was eighteen.

Now all that has passed, and I work as a whore for the men of Vindolanda and my scars are the only physical reminder of what has happened. I cannot leave- where could I go? I had no family left, and my home is too far away.

There is also the small matter of my owner. Fifteen denari bought me from the slavers and into the care and attentions of Proceus. Those cares and attentions saw me going to the most violent, disgusting and putrid Romans imaginable until I was 'experienced' enough to cater to the customers who paid better. If I left, I would be hunted down like a dog and killed.

I had left my home when I was seventeen, and at the time I met the knights, I was twenty.

They were always perfect gentlemen- more than I could say for the other customers I was sometimes gifted to. But there was one knight in particular.

His name was Galahad.

The first time he saw me, he knocked over his tankard in horror. He jumped up, came across the tavern with his face darkening in anger, swung his fist back and smacked it into the face of the Roman who had been forcing me into a corner, his hands tugging at my dress as I tried to push him off. I swung away from the man, who was now bleeding and swearing and tried to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. As the big man struggled back up, the young man kicked him down again and snarled at him in a language I didn't understand.

I was then grabbed by the hand and pulled from the tavern; coins clinking on Proceus' table as the young knight and I left the tavern, inquisitive eyes watching from most corners. We charged through corridors and courtyards until we reached the barracks; once inside, he pulled me into his room and slammed the door behind him. Released from the bruising hold on my arm I sank against the wall and watched him pace. I wasn't sure what his intentions were; it was the first time I had met one of the legendary knights. "Your name?" He enquired eventually.

I swallowed the dry feeling in my throat. I was not afraid, but I could not explain the feeling in the pit of my stomach as his sharp green eyes examined my face. "Salen," I said quietly, wrapping my arms around myself. "And you are Galahad, of Arthur's knights."

He nodded, and sat heavily on the bed. After a moment, he spoke again, and I was surprised that it was not to enquire about my services.

"You were a slave." At my confused look, he motioned to my wrists. The light white scars of the manacles had left a thick mark around each wrist. I nodded. "I was taken from my home. Enslaved, then sold."

"You were free, once?"

"We were all free once." I said heavily.

After a moment, I plucked up my courage and asked the question that had been nagging at the back of my mind; "Why did you bring me here?"

Galahad looked up from the bed and I noticed how unbelievably young he seemed. His strong, broad shoulders were slumped and tired, while the fire had gone from his eyes, replaced by sorrow.

Without saying anything, I padded over and stood before him. He looked up at me and placed his hands on my waist, while my palms went to his shoulders. Unspoken agreement crackled between us like fire, and I bent to press a soft kiss to his forehead.

My breathing slowed as he pulled me down; twisting so that I lay below him. "You don't have to do this," he whispered, his hand already sliding down my arm. "I just took you away from this."

I shook my head and lifted my head slightly, pressing my lips to his. "The time for talking has passed," I whispered.

With a soft smile, Galahad captured my mouth hungrily, and I suddenly found it hard to think properly. Warm, calloused hands slid over my skin, leaving a tingling wake of excitement. My hands went to the strings of his shirt and began to hurriedly unlace them as my dress was pulled torturously slowly up my thighs, my young knight's sweet fingers trailing small circles on the pale flesh there. I pushed the shirt from his skin and let my nails dig into his shoulders as his talented fingers found the apex of my legs. I moaned quietly and bit his neck, moving my hips slowly, feeling a coiled tightness in my belly. I did not know what I wanted from him, and my mind could not form coherent thought. I reached down and cupped him, and he groaned loudly, burying his face in my neck and withdrawing his fingers to press his hips down onto mine. "Galahad." I said, feeling the breath whoosh out of me in that breathless word, the pleading all too clear in my voice and the mindless shifting of my hips. He growled, his defined muscles lifting him from me in a smooth motion so he could loose himself. I arched my back and widened my legs, exposing my neck to his lips as he moved over me, all fire and strength, anger and sorrow. I heard myself cry out as my mind shattered, and felt more than heard the roar that tore itself from Galahad as he let his arms give out, his weight pushing me further into the bed as we lay together, limbs entangled, sweaty and exhausted. Sleep claimed us both, and though it was not my way, I did not leave when I awoke at dawn.

Galahad looked lost when he slept. His curls falling over his eyes, and his mouth in a small frown, he seemed to be searching for something. I shifted, turning to lie with my back to him, tugging the blankets to cover my legs.

I would be beaten when I returned to Proceus. I knew he would be angry with Galahad for taking me from the rich Roman man who had been attempting to force me, but he would not say anything to either him or Arthur. I would take the blame.

I did not feel any anger toward Galahad for this; I had found someone who understood. We would not become lovers, nor have any children, nor share a lifetime together. But he understood. And that, for me, was enough.

I decided to leave when the cockerel began to crow.

Dressing slowly and quietly, I was almost out of the door when a muffled grunt came from behind me. I turned, and saw a mussed, sleepy Galahad looking blearily at me.

"You're leaving."

"Yes. I have to return to Proceus."

"You'll see me again?"

"Yes."

And I left. It was not my last night with Galahad, but it is the one I will always remember. His kindness and unthinking gallantry may have brought him ridicule from his fellow knights, but for a simple whore, it was the biggest gift anyone could have given.

* * *

Please review.


End file.
